31

TWO PIECES of unfolded white notebook paper lay side by side on my breakfast nook table, the kind of paper Pepper and I used to take class notes on for English and history and Spanish. Both papers were labeled MY DREAMS in big block letters with a blue Sharpie, but other than that, they were completely different. One list was familiar because I’d written it out ten years ago. The other I recognized because it was written in Pepper’s still-familiar, more elaborate handwriting.

When people make lists of dreams and goals in their youth, do they ever turn out?

That was a ridiculous question. Just because I was staring at my adolescent list of hopes and expectations —and had veered so far from any of them —that didn’t mean no one else achieved their dreams.

Look at Johanna. Four years of college. Four years of pharmacy school. Dream job. A long-term, one-day-they-would-get-married relationship with Beckett. Was all of that what she’d daydreamed about back when she was a teenager? Did Johanna even allow herself time to daydream?

And Jillian . . . well, Jillian never said much about her dreams. She was everyone else’s cheerleader. Did she go to college because she wanted to or because that’s what you did after high school? Was working at the bank a dream come true —or just a good job because she’d always liked math? And cancer . . . I was certain that hadn’t been on Jillian’s goals as a grown-up. But she hadn’t let that stop her from marrying Geoff, even if they’d skipped the traditional wedding and reception.

Kimberlee was living her dream and had invited me along.

My list of teenage dreams sat open on the table in front of me. Numbered. Plain print letters. And each one somehow had to do with volleyball.

1. Major in kinesiology in college.
2. Play volleyball.
3. Help coach a club team during the spring and summer.
4. Start a club with Pepper.

None of that had come true.

When I’d read through Pepper’s list of dreams and goals —twice —it didn’t make any sense to me.

She hadn’t dreamed big like I thought she would back then. No, if anything, her dreams were small.

1. 1. Get a scholarship.

Yes, that was at the top of her list. But I didn’t recognize any of the colleges she’d listed. When I’d searched for them online, I discovered they were private Christian colleges, which had only confused me more.

1. 2. Go on a mission trip.

First Christian colleges? Then she’d wanted to go on some kind of religious trip to Africa?

1. 3. Get married. Have a family.

Okay, fine. But only after she’d had an amazing college volleyball career, right?

1. 4. Get closer to my mom, dad, and sisters. Keep praying for them.

There were multiple hand-drawn stars on either side of these sentences, and they were underlined three times. It was easy to see that was important to my sister. I understood the whole “keep praying for them” part. Probably her newfound friends were telling her to do that. But what did she mean about getting closer to her parents and sisters? We were fine before she died. Mostly.

That was it. Short . . . some people would even say simple, but it made my sister all the more complicated.

None of Pepper’s dreams and goals had come true, either.

Could I rescue my teen self that had dreamed of a different life? Could I rediscover a part of my heart that I’d neglected for years? Were any of these adolescent dreams ones I should have held on to, despite the heartbreak of Pepper’s death?

My throat ached at the thought of what I’d lost. What Pepper had lost. Each other. Our dreams. Even if I didn’t understand the dreams Pepper had written down, she’d still deserved the chance to pursue them.

I’d assumed I’d known what my twin sister wanted.

And I’d been wrong.

Pepper had never had the chance to go after what she wanted.

Me? I’d had chances. I just hadn’t taken them.

Why should I have my dreams when Pepper didn’t get hers?

The belief, buried deep within my heart, didn’t surprise me. I’d lived bound by the unspoken “I can’t” for so long, letting it guide my choices, my decisions. Pepper died. I lived. But I would live differently . . . live less than I’d hoped for because my actions had stolen my sister’s future from her.

It was only fair. Some sort of sisterly “eye for an eye.”

An unlived life for an unlived life.

Maybe someone else would have lived bigger, lived better. Tried to be more, or even be the person Pepper would have been. But identical looks, identical voices, identical laughs didn’t mean identical abilities. I couldn’t be Pepper just because our height, our weight, our eye color, and our preference for hamburgers with mustard and onions were the same.

But there was more holding me back than the lie I’d lived as a truth for so many years.

I stared at the two lists, our handwriting so different —another indication that despite having the same birthday, the same DNA, Pepper and I were not the same people. Given time, we would have grown up, changed. Maybe even gone to different colleges.

Given time.

And that’s why I was so angry with my sister.

Yes, I was upset, confused about her faith.

But I was more upset . . . hurt . . . that Pepper was changing . . . excluding me . . . leaving me behind . . . and I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t find the common ground between us when she chose to believe in God and I didn’t.

There was no common ground.

Given time, could I have learned to be okay with the change —the distance between us? Would we have agreed to disagree? Or would her faith have created an insurmountable barrier between us as the months passed?

There was no answering those questions now.

How do you reconcile with someone when she doesn’t even know you’re angry with her? How do you reconcile with someone when she’s gone?

“Can we talk about something before we both dive into the day?”

I turned my chair to face Kimberlee. “Calling a middle-of-the-week meeting?”

“You could say that.”

“That was a joke. What’s on your mind, partner?”

“The truth is we probably need to schedule more regular meetings, now that things are getting busier.” Kimberlee leaned back in her chair, putting her booted feet up on her desk. “I know you’ve been having a rough go of it lately, but I need to talk to you about something.”

“And I appreciate how understanding you’ve been. I promise things are going to settle down.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Things aren’t going to settle down —at least not for the business.” She pointed to her computer screen. “I had Bianca make a spreadsheet for our spring events and into the summer. This is going to be our busiest year ever.”

“I knew last year was good. I haven’t been paying close attention to what this year looks like.”

“Understandable. You’ve had a lot going on outside of work —”

“There’s no denying that.”

“Word of mouth has paid off and we’re finally getting the kind of attention —and the kind of clients —we’ve always dreamed of.” Kimberlee paused. “And I need to know if you’re with me in this, if you’re going to be around for the future of Festivities.”

I leaned forward, resisting the urge to jump to my feet. “What kind of question is that? Why wouldn’t I be around —?”

Kimberlee held up her hand. “Don’t say yes because that’s the expected answer, Payton. We both know Festivities was my dream back in college. I’ve always been thankful you joined me. Not that you’re not good at what you do. You are. We wouldn’t be where we are now without your skills, especially with social media. But this next year could be a huge leap for the company. That’s why I need to know if you’re all in.”

Kimberlee was being honest with me. She deserved for me to be just as honest with her.

“If you’d asked me this question a week ago, I would have automatically said yes.” I paused, not sure how to explain that my hesitancy was caused by a list of dreams I’d written back when I was all of sixteen. “Festivities was your dream —and it’s been fun being business partners, but . . .”

“Like you said, this business was my dream, not yours. What was your dream, Payton?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Volleyball.”

Kimberlee smiled. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“But I stopped thinking about that dream a long time ago.”

“Why?”

It seemed as if telling one truth led to more and more truth telling in my life. But was I ready to confess out loud to my friend why I’d followed in her footsteps instead of forging my own path?

“I guess . . . I guess I believed if Pepper couldn’t have her dreams, then I didn’t deserve to have mine.”

“Oh, Payton, that’s no way to live your life.”

I couldn’t hold back a laugh that mocked Kimberlee’s words. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong. I’ve lived that way for ten years. And I’ve been successful at it —we’ve been successful. What I’m just beginning to realize is that living like this was easier than fighting through the grief —and even the anger —caused by Pepper’s death.”

Don’t dream. Take the easy way out.

“Maybe it’s time to revisit your dreams again.” Kimberlee stood, crossing over to my desk. “You let grief keep you from them for too long. Don’t let fear stop you now.”

“I hear what you’re saying. But you asked me a question. I just want time to think about it. I love what we do —”

“Be honest, Payton. No, you don’t. You’re good at being the planner part of the business. But you don’t love Festivities like I do.” Kimberlee tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “What did you want to do when you graduated from high school? What did you want to major in?”

“What are you, some sort of guidance counselor?”

“No. I’m just asking the question. Were you always a business major?”

“It doesn’t matter. We’re not in college anymore, remember?”

“You’re twenty-six, Payton. You’ve helped me achieve my dream. It’s not too late for you to go for yours. And if it means leaving Festivities, I understand. I’ll miss you, but I understand.”

I know Kimberlee meant to encourage me with her words. To offer me freedom to choose a new path. A different future. But instead, it was as if she’d backed me into a corner with no way out.

“Are you firing me?”

“We’re partners. Partners don’t fire each other. We talk and figure out the future. Our future. The company’s future.”

“What about you, Kimberlee? I mean, personally?”

“Personally?” She tossed me a grin. “Who’s got time for a personal life when her dream is coming true?”

Could I abandon Kimberlee now? “What would you say if I wanted a couple of days to think about the future —whether I stay with Festivities or not?”

“I’d say fine. And what would you say if I started looking online at résumés? Because no matter what, we’re going to need extra help. Maybe see if Bianca is interested in moving up from being a receptionist, too?”

“I already know the answer to that question. Just don’t replace me right away.”

“Deal.” Kimberlee offered me her hand.

“I’ll let you know within a week what I’m going to do. Fair?”

“That’s fair.” We both shook hands in agreement and then Kimberlee backed away. “Good talk?”

“Yes. Good talk.”

It left my future undecided . . . but it was still a good talk.